Surviving the Scars of Reality
by Moody-Muse
Summary: A potential AU that revolves around repercussions of Doctor Spencer Reid's dance with dilaudid. Introductions and profiling abounds at Reid's first Narcotics Anonymous meeting where the eclectic group counselor makes an impression that leaves the FBI agent questioning his own profile.


**Hello everyone! Long time, no post. I've recently suffered an immense boulder giving me writer's block, among all the other stones life slings at me. **  
**As much as I attempt to work on the stories that sit unfinished or unedited in the vault, it is the largest challenge I could ever try to take on.  
**

**Thus, new stories or rambles pop in. One such ramble (the one below) has accumulated over one hundred fifty pages in my document editor and many paths that this simple beginning could take. **

**I began writing this tidbit years ago. For some reason, tonight saw me editing the first chapter. For now, this is complete. I am only posting to gauge response and to assure any followers who haven't left that I'm still writing -even if still badly.**

**Back for a cameo =M-M=**

* * *

It is easy, he finds, to write his name on the small rectangle of cardboard and slide it into the plastic badge. His name is on display and soon his secrets will be known as well. The room he enters is brightly lit and the chairs are arced wide along the south wall, facing the doorway and a small circular metal table.

"Spencer?"

He turns to the owner of the raspy voice, blinking and taking a small step back as he meets kind eyes.

"Hello," he glances at the name tag hanging from the middle aged woman's seashell necklace. "Robin. Can I help you?"

She smiles, shaking her head, "Oh, no dear. Miss Damara likes me to introduce our new NA members to the regulars. Is Spencer your real name?"

He nods, swallowing as he follows obediently to the middle seat and sits next to her. "I, uh, I'm not ashamed of my name, just my addiction."

Robin meets his eyes in surprise, stunned to hear his frank expression. "I think Miss Damara will like you."

Before he can comment a trio of men enters and soon the chairs are full. Robin calls them to attention, waves to the young brunette man at her side, "This is Spencer. Spencer, this is Narcotics Anonymous."

He raises his hand and waves slightly, Robin leaning over, "The trio of young men is relatively new, as well as those," she barely raises her hand to indicate two women who hold hands to support each other-sisters, he can tell-and another young woman who sits next to an elderly man. "They're new too. We weren't supposed to be full up tonight, I guess folks have been talking about Miss Damara."

"Who exactly is Miss Damara?"

Robin chuckles, leaning back in her chair, "You'll see, son."

At eight o'clock the door swings open, a petite body obscured by a large stack of boxes. No one moves to help and he finds himself gripping the seat as he watches, keeping himself from upsetting what is obviously a routine.

"Hello everyone! My name is Leanne Damara. I would be very pleased if you all would call me Leanne. How are we tonight?" The voice that floats out from behind the barrier is like honey and cinnamon. It rings in the ears, coats the mind and cloys the senses. Reid tilts his head at the way it echoes in his head.

The pale body appears from behind the boxes, blonde curls popping free from a messy bun.

No one answers her question and she smiles, red-pink lips lifting to crinkle the edges of sharp green eyes.

"Miss Robin? Will you kindly start us off?"

The woman stands, sighing as she clasps her hands in front of her body. "I'm Robin and it's been twenty five years, two months and seventeen days since my last hit of ecstasy. I," she smiles, shrugging, "I know the statistics say I shouldn't need this group."

"But?" Leanne prompts.

"But my grandson recently died in a hit and run. Every time I see my daughter, I want to go out and find that hazy feeling so I can forget about it."

Leanne nods, pushing her hair back as she stares into Robin's eyes. "Thank you Miss Robin. Who do you want to hear from?"

The turns pass along, each member, new or not, standing to introduce themselves by name or pseudonym and addiction. They all share news of their struggle and their lives, often one in the same.

When the finger finally turns to him, Doctor Spencer Reid stands and sticks his hands into his pockets.

Leanne stops him, "Now, now, now…Spencer," she smiles, stepping closer to him and speaking in an intentionally soothing tone. His mind flies over her characteristics as he unconsciously profiles her. "You can't be nervous and self-conscious here. Please, take your hands out of your pockets. There is no need to hide from anyone here. Do you understand?"

He nods slowly, hands appearing and laying slack against his thighs as he shifts from foot to foot.

"I, uhm, I am really bad at…" he takes a ragged breath, licking his lips, "talking in front of people. My name is Spencer Reid. I last used narcotics three months ago."

Leanne narrows her eyes, head tilting slightly as she tries to get a read on the awkward man before her. "Tell me Mister Reid-"

"Reid is…is fine."

She smiles, "Spencer," she crosses her arms, eyes twinkling, "what was the last book you read?"

He frowns at the left-field question, shrugging. "_Sophocles: The Complete Plays_."

"Had you read it before you used heroin?"

Reid stiffens at her seemingly random but very blunt question. "I had."

Leanne hums softly, moving back toward the table and unstacking boxes. He remains standing, waiting to be dismissed. She only looks up at him, waiting.

"I…" he hesitates, unable to tell what she expects from him. She looks up, abandoning her task as the others sit quietly, watching. Those who have been around more with knowing eyes, those new to the meetings with worried stomachs and dry mouths at the thought of being put on the spot.

"You…? Do you want to say something, Spencer?"

Reid looks at his feet, uncomfortable.

Leanne sighs quietly, moving closer until she reaches out and lays a hand to his shoulder. His head raises and she blinks, startled, as brown eyes bore into hers vulnerably. Her touch wavers but she reaffirms the contact, leaning closer slightly as she steels herself against the rush of chills crawling along her spine.

"I'm sorry, does it bother you that I call you Spencer? You wrote it on your nametag, yet you instructed me to call you by your last name. Is it alright if I use your first name?"

He swallows, "Yes. I'm used to replying to Reid, my team," he pauses, panic rising at the thought of speaking carelessly of his colleagues. "The people in my workplace address one another on a last name basis. Spencer is fine."

"Everything's fine, isn't it?"

He frowns, looking up at her, finding her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she scrutinizes him. Her probing eyes make him remember why the BAU team has a communal promise to never profile one another.

"Please, sit. I don't want you to think I'm picking on the new guy." He sits and she grins, stepping back to turn toward her table.

Pulling a small black gift bag from the only open-topped box, Leanne turns back to her group. "Usually, we have each new visitor draw a slip of paper from the bag. When all are out, we vote about which one will be easiest to talk about tonight. Now, we have…a lot," she laughs softly, shaking her head in surprise, "of new people. Which makes me wonder if someone told about those parting gifts," Leanne shoots a teasing look to a young girl, not more than fifteen, and earns a muffled laugh as the girl's eyes shoot to the new sisters. "We won't let that stop us from tradition, so, here we go."

Nine slips of paper drawn later, Leanne collects them and reads them off. "Why we use what we use, why we came to NA, why being clean matters, who we want to get clean for, who we want to hurt, what we do when we get high, how we handle a craving, how we got started, when we regret using." She looks to her group, question posed silently.

"Who we want to get clean for," the blonde sister speaks.

"Why being clean matters," the other votes.

Topics are thrown out and Reid finds himself abstaining. Leanne steals a glance at him, asking silently. He only looks down at his knees, bouncing in the metal chair.

"So that's…majority for how we got started. Good. Who wants to start this one? Remember, you have nothing to hide here. But, a little imagination never hurt anyone. So, maybe you stand up and tell us a little princess found a magic pill in her godmother's magic bag and found out it turned her into a beautiful swan. We will listen to whatever you want to tell us, all I require is that you tell us something."

"How's that help us any?" One of the trio of mid-twenties men asks, voice skeptical.

"Oooh, ladies and gentleman of the house, we have our volunteer. Please, Larry, leave Mo and Curly and stand right," she turns, pulling a rolled up rainbow rug out of her open box. Flopping it out in the center of the arc, she points with a flourish, "Here! Before you step onto the motley little carpet, please indicate your favorite color."

He hesitates, standing and stuffing his hands under his armpits as he crosses his arms. He stops at the edge, jaw askew as he stands skeptical. He points with his chin, "Yellow."

"Ah, the color of danger. And, coincidentally not, jealousy."

The man falters stepping onto the rug, eyes narrowed as he stares at Leanne and looks suspiciously to his friends, Mo and Curly.

Reid leans forward, watching their counselor read his peers with accuracy.

"I was sixteen and stupid. My girlfriend, love of my life-life's small at sixteen, ya'know? She got into dope with this new transfer, a senior. I got real…" he hesitates, searching for a word other than jealous, "worried. I started smoking with her. For her seventeenth birthday Mister Senior brings a few lines of coke. I went first, didn't bother me then that he wasn't going. Six months later, I'm still using and she's in rehab."

Leanne nods sympathetically, sitting in his chair as she listens with the crowd.

"What happened to her?"

Larry grimaces, arms uncrossing as he works his fists and shifts. "Senior boy got his princess. They got married after we graduated. She's a teacher somewhere in Texas."

"I'm sorry you had to lose her. Do you have anything else to share before you exit the hot seat?"

He shakes his head quickly and steps off the rug as if his memories will bury themselves without its influence.

Leanne stands, looking for volunteers. The quieter of the blonde sisters stands, moving over shyly and whispering, "I love the color purple."

"Oooh, Cleopatra would be proud."

The sister shifts, one arm stiff at her side as the other rises, hand cupping her elbow and pulling as she shrinks in on herself. She looks over to her sister who smiles and nods.

"Everyone always talks about how high school is the big time pressure, the mentality is everyone's doing it. For me, college was the big times. Drink, drink, one more chug and you'll be immortal for the night. So what if we put a bit of something special in your beer? It's a bonus for buying your red solo cup, getting a taste for nothing. Except it costs everything."

Reid's eyes narrow as she shakes, wondering if the stress of reliving is worth this exercise. He sees no benefit to this, only sees the two who have spoken reliving and craving in their chairs.

The older sister stands, head down. Leanne watches silently as she hugs her sister, mouth dry.

"Blue's my favorite color."

Leanne clears her throat, standing to the edge of the group as she murmurs, "The color of social prominence."

The sister nods, chin quivering as she sniffs. "Yeah. The kind of prominence where high school cheerleaders smoking a joint is the start of the party. I was the one who told my sister to buy the red cups. I was the one who bought the red cups in high school and kissed the college boys who gave me an extra sample. I just wanted to be the life of the party, to blend in so I could stand out."

Volunteers step to the rug, colors and stories changing as the person changes. When the volunteers run out, four remain.

Robin sits with a stubborn expression on her pale face. Leanne looks to her first, expression knowing and caring as she motions silently for Robin to come forward.

Robin stands at the edge of the carpet, taking a deep breath.

"White. I know it's not on the rug, but…"

"You are more than welcome to expand on our vision. Just because we see the rainbow, doesn't mean we can't open our eyes to the colors in between, right?"

Robing looks up, face pale and drawn. "Aren't you going to tell me what it means?"

Leanne smiles softly, sitting next to Reid as she leans back. "It's the color of mourning, but also of rescue."

Reid finds it hard to keep from looking to the counselor, curious to figure her out as she has already figured out everyone else. He wants to know if she will read him so deeply as well, though the thought of her doing so scares him acutely. The possibility is what keeps his head turned straight ahead, why he tries to keep reminding himself not to look her in the eyes and give her a chance to perceive any more.

"I was raped while working the swing shift at a pizzeria. I started using ecstasy because I couldn't handle the life growing inside of me. I wanted…I wanted to swallow enough to kill that little half-me, half-evil thing in me. It let me feel so much better, think about loving and it made it so easy to think of other things. I just floated and that thing in my stomach didn't have to be with me for the ride." Robin sniffs, smiling, hand moving to her stomach, "And then this beautiful, perfect little creature came out, safe and sound. I didn't even get to hold her, they took her away from me because they only saw how much I hated her. I was told she didn't survive the withdrawal."

"You got her back, Miss Robin."

Robing nods, forehead crinkled as she rubs her eyes. "I did. I got to raise my baby. And now she doesn't get to raise her own. She took all the vitamins and didn't eat fish and she did yoga and God took him away."

Leanne stands quickly, pulling Robin into a hug. For her ears only, she whispers, "Your grandson is in Heaven, watching out for you and his mommy. Nothing can change or tarnish how much you and your daughter loved him and nothing can replace him. It will get better."

"How?" Robin sobs into her shoulder.

"One morning, you'll wake up. Your first coherent memory won't be the wreck that killed your grandson, the nightmare where your daughter's crying and you can't fix her. It'll be his birthday, that perfect day you spent at the beach all together. And then, miraculously, you'll start to heal. You have to hold on to your baby right now, help her with the pain of losing her own. You can't be any help on drugs."

Robin nods, pulling away and wiping her eyes as she sighs, blowing out a large breath and laughing.

"He loved the beach."

Leanne smiles, guides Robin to her chair. She clears her throat, looking to the two males and one female left to speak. Avoiding Reid, she looks between the other two. He frowns at her avoiding him, knows she is giving him space so he does not bolt at the idea of being made to share once more.

The young girl steps up, putting on a brave front as she proclaims, "I'm a Taurus, I gotta love pink."

Leanne whistles, "Someone's not afraid to show her sense of adventure or her skills at innovation."

The girl smiles wide, proud. "That's right." She hesitates. "Though, that's maybe where I went wrong."

"Really? How do you know you went wrong?"

The girl laughs incredulously, "I'm here, aren't I?"

Leanne frowns, seemingly perplexed, "Is that so wrong?"

Examining her nails, the girl only shrugs.

From her seat, Leanne leans forward, affecting a wondering tone as she speaks as if to herself. "Let's see…if you weren't here, Spencer or Phillip would have to speak. I'm sure they like the reprieve of you stepping up. If you weren't here, you wouldn't meet anyone here-more than likely, anyway. You might have run across a few, like your friends," Leanne nods to the sisters, "but I bet you met them at a party you weren't supposed to be at. So, really, maybe your decisions led you here-not for a reason, just for a place to go-but maybe the bigger part is that your decisions have led you at all. Plenty of people make choices and never move one tile to the next. At least you jumped from your box."

The girl openly stares and then speaks as if in a trance, "I went to a party on campus-my dad's a professor so we live close. Brooke and Gina wouldn't let me try anything, they took care of me. Later, my dad, he, uhm, he brought home a baggy from the campus. He'd taken it off a kid and forgotten to hand it over when campus security came. He put it on the kitchen table by his wallet so he'd remember. I took it and I took all the pills in it. Not all at once, just…one was great. Two was phenomenal and three made me forget if I'd taken any at all, ya'know? Had to take some more to be sure."

Leanne stands, squeezes her hand gently as she walks passed her to exchange places.

"Well, gentleman, you've let the lady go first. I know, I know, big macho test for this prime spot as last. But," she turns to Phillip, pointing at him with a kind smile, "You've been here before, therefore, I choose you to step up here and spin us a tale of fantastic things."

Phillip grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he steps on the rug, kicking the edge as he stares at the wall. "Black ain't so bad."

"Color of the punished."

He ignores her, almost speaking over her, "There once was a boy who had a hero. That hero did meth. Since he was a hero, it was okay. Since he was the boy's hero, the boy did everything the hero did. Ipso facto, addiction was born." Without any hesitation he turns and plops in his chair. Leanne stares at him for a few seconds before nodding once, a decision made.

Turning to Reid she smiles encouragingly. He stares at her in muted panic, frozen for the first time that night. When his brain finally remembers not to leave him open to her reading, she is already in front of him and he can almost see her polishing the last of her profile for the evening.

"Okay starlight, no more waiting it out. Step right up and reveal your color choice." She gestures with a flourish to the rug, as if that is the hard part and the secret he will reveal is incidental.

Reid stands and slowly approaches the rug. He faces the group and then takes a deep breath, turning away from them. He tries to speak, only his tongue is stuck and he clenches his fists against his slacks, his collar suddenly too tight and his limbs too heavy.

Leanne moves in front of him slowly, standing so the exit is obscured behind her. She smiles kindly before giving him a sad frown, biting her lip as she holds out her hand. He stares at it before shaking his head. She waits. He finds his arm raising and then her cold hand is cooling his too hot body and holding him so that he does not float over the rainbow.

"I find the color gray to be very calming." Even to his own ears, his quiet voice is choked.

"Hm, maybe it speaks to your sense of wisdom and authority, or your sense of compromise and neutrality."

Reid swallows hard, hand tightening around hers as he is highly aware of the track marks that hide under healed skin and his white button-up. She smiles gently, trying to give him the same look he is giving her as his face holds vulnerability and fear. Leanne finds it hard to translate how deeply she empathizes so she squeezes his hand gently and whispers, "Take your time."

He clenches his jaw, squinting as he takes a breath. His words fall out in a rush.

"I was injected with a cocktail of Dilaudid six months ago."

"Did you have any choice in the matter?" her quiet question is careful.

"Not the first few times."

Leanne blinks, looking at his hand squeezing hers as she chokes back rage and disgust at the idea of humanity allowing for hell.

"What made you go back to it?" she measures her voice as if a mantra, breathes the words and stares at their joined hands.

"I only chose it once. After…bad things happened. I couldn't stop them." His eyes are wide, remembering three months of volleying between squeezing the glass bottle in his hand and filling the syringe only to throw it away before he could make the needle break his skin. Unbidden, flashes of those he could not save pop into his mind. He blinks, flinching as he remembers the needle breaking his skin and the two empty bottles now thrown carelessly to shatter. One was never going to be enough, they were there, floating in front of him so he had to take more. Three pricks to the crease of his elbow, just like that first spell.

"Spencer?" His eyes snap to hers. She stares at him, reads the truth and sincerity behind his words. She nods, raising her free hand and rubbing the back of his hand gently. She silently releases him and he stands still on the rug, the group rising behind him.

"I want a line to form behind Phillip, please."

Leanne stands at the table, opening boxes and doling out goody bags of sugar band-aids, watching as some of the participants choose to stay and talk over their treats as others bolt in order to bury the memories. She watches Reid as he stays rooted to the rug, her hand still red from his desperate grip.

When the group is thinned and the line before her is gone Leanne grabs two of the bags, walking to Reid.

"Hello Spencer. Would you like to sit with me?"

He blinks, looking at her like he has seen her for the first time. She sees clarity return as he escapes his mind and he does not answer, merely follows her as she moves toward the arc of chairs.

She offers the bags to him, his hand taking the bag before his mind processes what they are. When he sees the miscellaneous cookies, brownies and candies inside, he looks to her curiously.

"A lot of addicts know that craving feeling. It can be…not replaced, but muted, with sugar. Specifically heroin addicts. Has your sweet tooth been screaming these last six months?"

He stares at the baggies, refusing to meet her probing gaze.

"I like sugar," his voice is hesitant and she knows that he wants to talk to her but he does not want to be picked apart like an insect pinned to a board.

"Mhm. I'd feel bad shoving cookies into your hands if you didn't." He stiffens and she realizes how knowing her voice sounded. She looks across the room, tries to remind herself that not everything is false confidence and confrontation.

Silence lapses and she sits seemingly relaxed beside him as he waits for her to get to the point of singling him out.

She knows it would be best to wait him out, to have him lead the conversation. Her impatience rears its head and she shifts, uncomfortable with the feeling she thought buried, propping her head in her hand as she leans on the back of the chair and faces him.

"Is there anything you need to talk about?" He shakes his head. "If you do, I can listen to you. People don't generally show up at NA with silence as the goal." Her words are blunter than she intends but his lips quirk and she thinks he looks almost grateful for the directness.

He looks up at her and her green eyes are too inviting. He finds himself speaking, "How do you read people so well?"

She shifts, uncomfortable at the turn to her. She answers lazily, appearing at ease though he sees the hesitation in the twist of her lips. "The big secret behind going unnoticed is noticing."

He chuckles, understanding the sentiment all too well.

"How is your team handling your battle?"

Her question makes him fall silent and still. He frowns, thinking of the concern they still show. His tone is clipped and cautious, warning dripping from every syllable that he will not divulge too much, "We work together, but everyone thinks of each other as family. I didn't tell them what had happened with the UNSUB. They knew something was wrong."

Leanne ignores her curiosity over the term he uses, leading him as she asks, "When did they find out?"

Reid swallows, shifting as he plays with the edges of the bags in his hands. "After I used again, I started going through withdrawal in the middle of a case. For me, it wasn't just feeling terrible for a few weeks or a month. It made it pretty clear that I had been leaving them out of something and they made it their mission to figure out what so they could help."

She reaches out, gently squeezing his upper arm. "They've been supporting you? You've made it three months, that's an exceptional amount of time with no formal support, especially with prolonged withdrawal symptoms."

"Yes. Our work is time consuming, when we don't have a case we usually have to stay in contact and wait for a call. My phone has received more traffic these last few months than it has in full years."

"If…" she hesitates, looking into his curious eyes as she asks, "if you don't mind, why is the three month mark so hard? The first three after your…encounter," her voice hardens a bit at the thought of forced injections but she pushes it away. "Something triggered an irresistible craving. Now, three more, and you're here. Was there a fit that brought your presence tonight on?"

Reid does not immediately answer, quietly sorting his thoughts as she watches him. The weight of her gaze on him makes him reach the disturbing conclusion that he is utterly unaware of what she may see as she examines him.

"I have to go," he stands abruptly, haphazardly noting her stiffening at his sudden move. She rises to stand next to him, nodding once in understanding and keeping her mouth shut as she smiles softly, appearing friendly though her body now leans away from him and her feet are planted in a defensive stance. "I, uh…thank you," he waves the bags, looking up at her and watching her eyes narrow at the realization that he read her body language. "I plan to come back next week…if that's okay." He sees her try to relax her frame yet the fight or flight response hangs on her..

She nods, reaching out once more and offering silent support as she briefly holds his hand in hers. She retreats, crossing her arms as she smiles to him. "It was nice of you to join us, Spencer. I look forward to seeing you next week. It sounds like you have a very solid support group to help you through this, but if you need someone who can listen that you don't have to face the next day, my card is in the bag. Any time you need to, please feel free to ring."

He glances at the bags, swallowing hard and nodding as he steps away from this woman who makes his mouth move too freely and his mind think too openly as he listens to her. "Thank you Miss Damara. Goodnight."

Leanne watches Reid leave, looks over the now empty room. She cleans up silently, mind carefully noting the new faces and stories of tonight. She packs up her boxes, looks around carefully before taking her things and exiting the building. She scans the now dark outside quickly, feet carrying her to her jeep in a rush as she counts the familiar steps off in her head. Vehicle cleared, she puts the boxes in the back and climbs into the driver side, hitting the locks immediately as she sits still behind the wheel. She grits her teeth as she lifts her hands to the wheel, starting the car and turning the music on just loud enough to drown out her thoughts as she heads away from the city and the people it holds.


End file.
